He gave her a slow smile, acknowledging her attempt to distract him. Nell swallowed and hoped she wasn’t blushing. He probably smiled like that at every female he met. There would be a trail of hearts from here to London, she had no doubt.
“I’m going to breed horses,” he told her. “Thoroughbreds. Racehorses.”
Nell was silent for a moment, her throat thick with envy. Breeding Thoroughbreds was—had been until recently—her own dream. To bring back Firmin Court to the glory it once had. “My mother’s family—this was her childhood home, you know—used to breed horses, too. Firmin Court used to be renowned for its horses.”
He nodded. “I know. I heard about it when I was in Bath recently. That’s why I came here in the first place. I saw at a glance it’s perfect for what I want.”
She nodded and tried to be glad that the estate would be cared for now, if not by herself. “Have you been in the horse-breeding business long?” she asked.
He swallowed a mouthful of soup and said, “No, I’ve been at war for most of the last eight years. But my partner and I have been planning this for years.” He made a self-deprecating grimace and added, “Soldiers are always full of plans for afterward, but this time a legacy from my great-aunt helped make the dream a reality.”
He finished his soup and made a halfhearted attempt to refuse a second helping. “It’s excellent soup,” he told Aggie, making her splutter with insincere denial as she plied him with additional helpings.
He might be quiet, but he had more charm than any man had a right to.
Nell asked him more about his plans, and as he explained about his ambition to breed, race, and sell Thoroughbreds, he polished off several thick slices of toast, crunching through it with white, even teeth. Aggie, who loved to feed any man, and couldn’t resist the big, good-looking ones, kept the toast coming thick and hot and even added a pot of her best damson jelly.
He gave the old woman a lopsided, boyish smile in thanks and Nell added Aggie to the lists of his female conquests. The elderly woman bridled with delight as he slathered on the jelly. It seemed he had a sweet tooth. And he was quite, impossibly handsome.
Nell finished her meal as quickly as she could, ate half a slice of toast, then rose.
“I’ll just go and check on—”
“Sit down and I’ll pour your tea,” Aggie told her.
“Oh, but—”
“You’re not leaving this house without a good cup of tea in you and that’s final,” Aggie declared. “And I made jam tartlets this morning and you’ll eat one, my lady, or I’ll want to know the reason why.” She placed a plate of small jam tarts in front of Nell much as she’d lay down a gauntlet.
Recognizing from the “my lady” that her old nurse was seriously distressed by her impending departure, Nell obediently sat and began to nibble on a tart. Aggie sniffed and poured the tea.
Mr. Morant devoured a tartlet, then gave Nell an expectant look. “Now, about your future—”
“I’m going to London,” she told him before he could ask again. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper, which she handed to him. “This list might help you to get started. All highly recommended.”
She drank her tea in three large gulps and stood. “I’ll just check on Toffee and her colt if you don’t mind,” she said. Taking a steaming kettle with her, she let herself out of the building.
Harry watched her go, frowning. She seemed very brittle.
“Brought that mare into the world, she did,” Aggie told Harry. “Its mam died, see, and it was very weak. Miss Nell fretted over the little one as though it were human. ’Is lordship wanted to put the filly down, but she fought ’im for it and won. Just a little lass she was, eight, or thereabouts, but she stood up to him right proud until ’e gave in. Raised it herself and trained it—the talent runs in the blood—her mam was the same. All that family were mad for ’orses. Miss Nell near broke her heart when her pa sold it for a mighty sum to be raced by other folks.”
She shook her head as she wiped the table down. “The new owners treated her cruel hard, nearly killed the poor beast. So Miss Nell scraped together the money to buy her back—she’d stopped winning by then, was a mess of nerves, poor thing.” She rinsed the dishcloth and sighed. “Break her heart to say good-bye to that ’orse again, it will.”
“What will your mistress be doing?”
Aggie’s mouth tightened. “Can’t say, sir.”
Harry frowned. “Will you be accompanying her?”
“No, she’s found me a place as housekeeper to the vicar, so
I’ll
be all right,” the old woman said with emphasis. “Well, the poor man needs it. Getting old, he is, and forgetful. And he’s going to take that dog of hers, too. She’ll miss her Freckles something shocking, poor lass, but she can’t take a dog, not where she’s going.”
So she was going alone. Harry didn’t like the sound of that. The vision of Nell sitting drenched on that cart haunted him. “Is she not going to some family member?”
Aggie snorted. “The Irish cousins? Not them! Anyway, if she’s to run and fetch for folk—” She broke off guiltily. “Look at me, runnin’ on about nothin’. I’ll be off and get the last of my things.”
Harry nodded absently. He was reading the list she’d given him. On it was a list of names.
“Mrs. Deane,” he said to Aggie. “Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the meaning of this. Your name is here, too.”
He showed Aggie the paper. She squinted at it vaguely. “Sorry, sir, never was much of a hand with reading.”
He started to read it to her.
“It’s so unfair,” Aggie burst out before he was halfway through. “Near worked herself into the ground, she did, keeping this place goin’ when her pa was busy dragging it into the gutter. Miss Nell ran herself ragged, squeezing out every penny she could to make sure nobody on the estate starved. Just about knocked her endways, it did, when she come back and found out all her scrimping and saving had been for naught and that her pa had gambled it all away.”
He held up the paper. “And this list?”
“It’s everyone who worked here in the last year, sir, them who stayed on after the money ran out, stayed on for Miss Nell. After she got taken away by her pa last Easter, they all got turned off without so much as a penny or a promise. She never knew until last week.” Aggie wiped her eyes with her apron. “I dunno where she went. Come back a shred of her former self, she did, and with such sad eyes.”
“So these people need jobs?”
Aggie looked up, her old eyes lighting with hope. “With you, sir? They would. Oh, sir, and if you tell Miss Nell, it’d take a load off her mind, it would. Worries about everyone, that girl.”
Harry nodded and shoved the paper in his pocket. “I’ll be back in a week, all going to plan, and I’ll follow these people up then. I value loyalty. No one who worked for Miss N—Lady Helen will go wanting this coming winter.” Last winter, he knew, had been exceptionally hard.
“Oh sir,” Aggie said, her voice cracking. “I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you.”
Harry headed for the stables. He found Nell standing at the stall half-door, watching the scene with a dreamy, oddly wistful expression on her face.
He peered over her shoulder. The colt was on its feet and drinking from its mother. All that could be seen were four long, splayed, spindly legs, a small dark rump, and an excited, waggling tail. Harry smiled. He never tired of the sight. And it was a good omen—the first foal born in his stables.
“He looks a strong little fellow,” he commented.
“Yes, he’s lovely.”
“That note you gave me with the list of names, I’ll take most of them on. Aggie told me they’re all loyal workers.”
There was a long silence, then she said, “Thank you,” in a choked voice. Tears glittered on her lashes. She turned away so that he would not see, saying, “It
shames
me that they have been so ill-used. Some day I hope to pay them all what they are owed, but in the meantime . . . Thank you.”
He caught a glimpse then of the rage and utter humiliation she felt at her father’s careless, spendthrift ways.
She pulled out a handkerchief, blew her nose fiercely, and began to mix a hot mash for her mare. Harry watched. She knew her way around horses; he could not have bettered the mix.
“What will become of you?” he asked her after a few moments.
“Me?” she repeated. “I’m going to London.”
He said nothing and didn’t shift his gaze. It always worked and this time was no exception.
“If you must know, I have found a position, a job—a very good one.”
“As?”
“As a companion to a widowed lady. And there’s no need to look at me like that,” she added in a crisp voice. “It is what we ladies come down in the world do. I’ll probably spend my time reading to the old dear, taking tea with her, and visiting the sights of London—it will be a most agreeable life, I’m sure.”
True enough, he supposed. It was the kind of things ladies did. It’d bore him rigid. “No family?”
She shrugged. “Some distant cousins in Ireland that I’ve never met. And since they’ve already been burdened with Papa’s debts, I have no intention of adding myself to their problems. There is no shame in working for one’s living.”
He said nothing for a few moments, then, “You could work for me.”
She frowned. “As?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure of the term. You could work with the horses, training them as you’ve done here. Aggie told me you’re born to it. Doing what you did before, only for me, not your father.”
Nell stared at him. To stay here and continue working with her beloved horses. Did he have any idea of what he’d just offered her? Her dream on a dish. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining it. But it was impossible.
She had to find Torie.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s a fine offer, but it’s not possible.” She had no intention of explaining the real reason; luckily there was no shortage of others.
“Why not?”
“There would be a great deal of talk. Bad enough for you to take on an unmarried woman of gentle birth to work in your stables, but to have an earl’s daughter as one of your trainers—it would be a scandal.”
“You’ve already survived the scandal of your father’s bankruptcy,” he pointed out bluntly.
“Yes, but this would ruin us both. I am an earl’s daughter, and you are—you are . . .” She faltered, not knowing what to say.
“I am the natural son of an English earl and a maidservant,” he finished for her.
She looked at him in surprise. “Are you?” she said. “I didn’t know. I just thought you were not of the
ton
. But if you are what you said, then, yes, that would make it worse. They would gossip about me, of course, but they would hold it against you. They’d resent it that someone they considered an upstart could employ a lady in a menial position.”
He snorted. “I don’t care what they think.”
She laid her hand on his arm and said earnestly, “No, but you must. You seem to be an ambitious man.”
She paused and he gave an offhand nod, confirming her impression.
“Well, if your plan is to breed and train Thoroughbred racehorses, it is the gentlemen of the
ton
you must deal with—they are the ones who rule racing, who purchase the horses. If you employed me, those same gentlemen would see it as an insult to their class. They’d
hate
you for it. They’d refuse to do business with you and you’d be politely and invisibly blackballed.”
He shrugged. “They wouldn’t if you married me.”
Shocked, Nell let go of his arm and took two steps backward. “Married you?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Why not?”
She stared at him dumfounded for a moment.
Why not?
“I’ve only just met you. You can’t want to marry me.”
He just looked at her as if to say, why not?
She felt her face heating. Her first ever proposal—probably the only one she’d ever get—and it was delivered with as much emotion as a grocery delivery. She had no idea how to respond.
“Y-you can’t possibly l-love me.” She flushed as she heard what she’d said. How gauche! How stupid! Ladies of her class rarely married for love. It was all position and money and land. Not that she had any of that.
He gave her a bemused look, as if she’d said something foolish. “I’ve only just met you,” he reminded her.
“I k-know. Which is why you can’t possibly mean what you just said.”
“I meant it.”
She stared at him, at the big, quiet, self-assured man. A man of few words. But those few had the power to rock her. He’d marry her? The handsomest man she’d ever met in her life would marry her, poor, plain Nell Freymore, the gambler’s daughter?
“Why?”
“I think we’d do well together.”
“Do you know how old I am?” she asked him. She’d been on the shelf for years.
“I thought about five-and-twenty,” he said.
“I am
seven
-and-twenty.”
He shrugged. “I am nine-and-twenty. Does it matter?”
She stared at him. He didn’t seem to understand. For a moment she considered it. Skinny, plain Nell Freymore, who’d been on the shelf for years, marrying this beautiful man, this tall young lion with the deep voice and the steady gray eyes.
Oh God, but the temptation, just for a moment, was appalling. She could just leave her past, her problems behind, stepping into a secure, comfortable future. It was exactly what Papa had planned for her.
But she would have to choose between this handsome stranger and Torie and she couldn’t. There was no choice.
His face was impassive, his gray gaze unreadable. Was he already regretting his impulsive offer? She could never regret it. To know that someone had asked her, at least. Even if the very idea was impossible.
“No, no, thank you. It’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid it’s impossible,” she said softly.
“I’m not being kind,” he said, still in that calm, deep voice.